


Better than friendly

by linndechir



Category: Justified
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 20:39:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raylan drops by Tim's place on a Friday night, uninvited and not quite sure what he's hoping for. Turns out Tim is a pretty good host, in his own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better than friendly

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks, that's what I came here to hear.” 

“What did you come here for?”

Raylan makes a face. Spending the last week hunting down some asshole through every dirty corner of Harlan County could make any man feel – and probably look – like shit. It's dark outside, Friday night, Raylan just realises, and it only occurs to him then that Tim might well have better plans for the evening than dealing with some asshole colleague showing up uninvited on his doorstep.

“Nothing that can't wait 'til Monday,” Raylan says, because he doesn't really have a good reason to be here. But he doesn't turn around just yet, lowers his head a little so the brim of his hat hides his face from Tim's eyes – that no bullshit look that sees right through you, the look of a man who spent too many years of his life looking at the world through a sniper scope and assessing who needed a bullet through their skull. Tim's quiet for a moment, like he's waiting for Raylan either to say something else or to fuck off, then he shrugs.

“Wanna come in?”

Thing with Tim is, he doesn't sound friendly when he says things like that. Tim's a hard guy to read, and frankly Raylan has no idea what they are to each other, except colleagues. They're not friends, not really. He's not even sure if Tim even likes him – even though Tim is the kind of guy who seems to treat people he likes and people he hates pretty much the same, all abrasive sarcasm and an unreadable attitude that's occasionally broken by the kind of blunt honesty that makes most people, Raylan included, pretty damn uncomfortable. But at the same time Tim seems to have accepted him as some sort of brother-in-arms, courtesy of getting shot at together, and while Raylan is pretty sure he's nowhere near the same category as Tim's Ranger buddies, he seems to be getting a similar deal. You don't have to like a guy to serve with him, to watch his back, to be a friend to him even though you wouldn't give him the time of day if you had met him under different circumstances. Raylan has a feeling that Tim doesn't really know how to be friends with people unless they've served together, be it in Afghanistan or in Harlan. Tim mentioned once in passing that his Army buddies often drop by his place, that he's the guy they stay with for a week when they have a row with their wife or their girlfriend. Tim's a bad talker and Raylan's not even sure if he's a good listener – good listeners don't roll their eyes that often – but he's pleasant enough company, once you get used to him being the way he is.

So whatever they are to each other, Raylan sometimes drinks with Tim, and one time, a couple of weeks back, Tim picked his drunk ass up from some bar and let him sleep on the couch. Made some pretty great breakfast in the morning and was still an asshole for the rest of the day. After that Raylan had already shown up uninvited once at Tim's place, and Tim had asked him in and given him some leftover pizza – home-made pizza, he said, and who the fuck makes pizza themselves? – and somehow after a few beers they had ended up fucking on the couch, and even that hadn't been friendly, it just happened, and in a way Raylan supposed it had been bound to happen for some time. After that Tim had been the closest to freaking out that Raylan had ever seen him – that, too, courtesy of spending most of his life in the Army, he supposed – but after Raylan had convinced him that they were good, they hadn't talked about it again. Nothing had changed.

That was almost two weeks ago, and Raylan isn't sure if he was hoping for pizza or beer or a fuck when he drove over here. He wouldn't say no to any of those.

Tim lets him in and disappears in the kitchen, and Raylan is hit by a pretty damn amazing smell. He follows Tim, finds him stirring one of the three pots on the stove.

“Was just making dinner,” Tim says, still that same conversational, neutral tone he uses most of the time, no matter what he's talking about (damn, except when they had fucked, and Raylan has really not been planning on thinking about that, but Tim's wearing a tight, worn tanktop and old jeans that show off his ass, and Raylan hasn't had a single quiet moment to get laid this whole week). “Want some?”

Raylan barely bites back whatever dirty comment his mind was about to provide.

“Sure, if it's no trouble.”

“Nah, I always make more, leftovers for the week.”

“Didn't know you could cook.” Because all right, both the pizza and the scrambled eggs had been pretty damn great, but neither probably takes great cooking skills. Not that Raylan would know, he can't remember the last time he's made proper breakfast for himself. Tim shrugs again, like it's nothing.

“Spend enough time in the Army eating the shit they pass off for food there, and you learn how to cook.”

“I thought most guys got themselves girlfriends for that,” Raylan says, leans back against the kitchen counter while he watches Tim. He seems to know what he's doing, despite his usual insistence that he doesn't know jackshit about anything except his job and shooting people. 

“And replace one drill sergeant with another? Nah, thanks.” Brief laughter as Tim shifts a little, but Raylan notices the tension in Tim's posture, the unease of a man who's not used to being around anyone who knows that he has a whole different reason for not getting himself a girlfriend. “Pretty sure cookbooks are cheaper than girlfriends, too.”

It's the last they speak of it because Tim starts filling two plates with food, chicken in some creamy red sauce, yellow rice and vegetables that still retain their original colours instead of looking like the overcooked mess Raylan's used to. Tim tells Raylan to get two beers from the fridge, asks him if he likes Bruce Willis movies, and heads to the living room without waiting for an answer.

The food's mind-blowingly good, although Raylan is pretty sure that Tim doesn't have normally functioning taste buds because the chicken is so fucking spicy Raylan feels like his mouth is on fire, but Tim doesn't seem to mind. It still tastes great, even though Raylan is on his second beer before he's finished his plate. They don't talk, just watch some action flick called _RED_ that Tim seems to know by heart, and Raylan has never seen the guy grin like that, like a carefree kid, and he does have to admit it's a pretty fun movie.

By the time he helps Tim bring the dirty dishes back to the kitchen – he offers to help clean up, but Tim is pretty particular about that stuff, his entire place looks like he has a bad case of OCD and can't abide things not being in their right place – Raylan realises he hasn't had that good a night in a long time. He gets why Tim's Army buddies come to him when they need to clear their heads – something about Tim's quiet, calm demeanour, about being in his space and just getting dragged along as Tim does his thing like he doesn't give a shit that someone else is there, is oddly soothing. Raylan leans against the counter again while he watches Tim clean up the kitchen – meticulously, and Raylan supposes that this, too, comes from a life in the Army, from never having a proper home until he made himself one. It's a nice change from shitty motel rooms, and maybe that alone was reason enough to come here.

When Tim is done, there's a moment of awkward silence, the first one that evening. Tim stares a little at him, at his hips, hell, his crotch, before he tears himself away. Raylan can't fucking imagine what that must have been like, spending eight years risking his life for people who would kick him out if they knew that all his talk about hot underwear models was nothing but bullshit from a guy who sucked cock better than any girl Raylan ever had. The thought makes him shift a little, slightly uncomfortable in his jeans, and not only because he ate too much of that curry Tim cooked

“So, er, you want some whiskey?” Tim rubs the back of his neck, and Raylan's starting to realise that he always does that when he's nervous – he just hasn't seen him nervous very often. “You can crash on the couch again if you can't drive, 's fine by me.”

And Raylan knows this is probably a shitty idea, considering that they work together, considering that Tim almost had a small panic attack after last time, as if he expected Raylan either to shoot him in the head or to rat him out to the rest of the world, but hell, impulse control has never been Raylan's strong suit, and it's not like Tim seems particularly opposed to the idea. So Raylan pushes himself away from the counter, steps closer until he's trapped Tim against the fridge – and Tim's letting himself be trapped, eyes looking anywhere but at Raylan, body tense, but he's not stepping away.

“You sure you wanna make me sleep on the couch? 'cos I could think of a thing or two you got here that I want more 'n whiskey,” he drawls, and Tim finally meets his eyes again. He looks like he's not sure what to do, and Raylan knows it's not because Tim hasn't done this plenty of times before, he has, just not with someone he knows, certainly not with someone he works with. 

“C'mon, Raylan, thought we weren't gonna mention that again,” Tim mumbles and looks down.

“Don't have to mention it,” Raylan says, hand on Tim's hip now, and Tim doesn't flinch away. “You still worried I'm gonna give you shit about this? I didn't last time, did I?”

Tim doesn't say anything, but he seems to relax a little, even as Raylan steps even closer, body flush against Tim's. Tim's hands find their way to Raylan's shirt, just resting there as if he still had to make up his mind, but Raylan's pretty sure he's got him, pretty sure that if Tim was gonna run (or punch him in the face), he would have done so already.

“C'mon, Tim, dinner like that, I at least owe you a blowjob, don'tcha think?” This time Raylan just mumbles the words into Tim's ear, and he feels Tim's choked back moan more than he hears it. 

“Fuck,” Tim says and raises one hand to the back of Raylan's neck to pull him into a hard kiss.

And that's just the thing with Tim. He may not _sound_ friendly most of the time and you're never sure if he even likes you, but in the end he's just a damn good guy to be around.


End file.
